


Under the Lighthouse

by BigGhost



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Artist AU, M/M, Photographer!Prompto, no dirties im sorry, sculptor!Gladio, some kissing and petting in the end but thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 10:05:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12746121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigGhost/pseuds/BigGhost
Summary: Gladio is a sculptor and invites Prompto out to his family estate in Cape Caem to show him something.





	Under the Lighthouse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aequoria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aequoria/gifts).



“Come on, I wanna show you something,” Gladio says as he gestures for Prompto to follow him.  He brushes his clay covered hands on his pants, staining them with grey and white, as they make their way out to the lighthouse.

Prompto shoves his hands into his jacket pockets when the brisk wind brushed against him suddenly.  He trots up to Gladio, who seems to hardly even notice the cold wind, and purses his lips at the thought that Gladio’s ridiculous muscles are keeping him warm, like some sort of absurdly ripped bear.

Gladio takes them into the lighthouse, shrouded in the dark of night like a cave.  The elevator is loud as it creaks up and seems to echo against the bare walls.  When they walk inside to descend, the floor jumps with effort and startles Prompto closer to Gladio’s side.  The bigger man laughs a little at his expense, “Don’t worry, this thing sounds worse than it is.”

Somehow that doesn’t make Prompto feel better.  When he agreed to come out to Cape Caem with Gladio to spend their vacation in the countryside, he didn’t expect to be taken down to some basement to be murdered for Cup Noodle meat.

Prompto rolls his eyes, but still laughs.  “Easy for you to say.  If it crashes, you won’t even notice.”  Jokes aside, he might not.  Gladio seems to have a massive pain tolerance for anything that isn’t a straight up dismemberment.  Maybe Prompto could use his body for a shield if the elevator  _ did  _ crash.  A tragic, but heroic end.

It doesn’t, thankfully, and Prompto doesn’t have to try to lift Gladio for protection.

“Did you take me down here to murder me for noodle meat?” he calls behind Gladio as they descend a small flight of stairs.

“Pfft, you’re too scrawny for that,” he calls back.  His footfalls are heavy against the wood.

Prompto bristles a little and wants to defend himself, he is a  _ perfect  _ candidate for Cup Noodle meat,  _ excuse you _ , but the room opens up to a new space.

Underneath the lighthouse, it’s a lot bigger than Prompto expected.  If he is honest, he expected a little shack of a place, just big enough for a little table of supplies and a slab of clay.

On the contrary, though, Prompto could argue that this could make up a living space on its own.  The stair rails are lined with little paper lanterns that lit up.  Prompto knew that if he asked, Gladio would say they were Iris’ idea, but anyone that knows Gladio knows he loves romantic room decor more than Pinterest.

The room is spacious, big enough to fit a fridge and a microwave in the corner and a mini sitting space like a living room.  The couch is worn and tattered, but it looks comfortable and has probably been Gladio’s bed more than once.

In the corner tucked away is a fire pit that seemed to be the source of the warmth in the little cove.  Maybe that was why Gladio never seems bothered by how cold it got on the surface; the cold never stands a chance in his little cave.  It gives the room a soft, comfortable orange glow.

Prompto hops from one foot to the other to warm himself up by the fire.  This is cozy, in a “log cabin honeymoon” kind of way.  It’s very “Gladio.”  The inside of an artist’s studio is sacred space.  It’s like stepping into their head.  Quite frankly, Prompto feels a little giddy at the idea that Gladio felt comfortable enough to let him into his space.

He runs his hands along some of the finished sculptures that are scattered about.  Most of them are clay, a couple are carved from stone.  Some are small, dainty and pretty.  Others are strong and fierce.  Prompto touches the face of what looks like a bust of an orc from King’s Knight.  The face is screwed up in rage, complete with deep wrinkles and a chipped tooth.  He’s amazed at the detail of the creature, and the others that followed it.  Gladio had made all of these amazing things...

“So this is your studio,” Prompto says finally.  “I dig it.  It’s got that, ‘I’m a macho man with a softy side’ kinda feel to it.”  He laughs and turns to Gladio.  Gladio, though, doesn’t seem as joyful as Prompto.  Prompto’s smile falters.  Has he read the situation wrong?  Is it because he touched his orc?  Ah, it’s probably the orc…

Gladio teeters from one foot to the other as he rubs his palms together, and tries to keep his cool demeanor.  Prompto knows Gladio better than the girls he flirts with on the fly, though.  On them, this little charade of coolness would have worked, but Prompto knows that this is Gladio’s, “I’m really nervous and want to talk,” dance.

“Yeah, you like it?  This is a nice space,” Gladio says quickly.  He nods at his friend.  “No one else has ever seen this place...not even Iris.”

That makes Prompto’s tummy flutter more than he’d like to admit.

“I actually wanted you to see the project I’ve been working on,” Gladio says as he approaches his work bench.  It’s stained with clay and paint, and has an extravagant replica of the goddess Leviathan sitting on top.  She’s elegant, long, and looks almost like she’s flying; the details were down to the folds of her fins and the dips of her scales.  It looks like Gladio had begun painting her.

Prompto approaches her carefully, as though she would come to life and bite him from her place on the little sticks holding her up.  He doesn’t want to touch her for fear that he’d mess up Gladio’s obvious hard work, but he wants to pet her at the same time.  “Gladio, this is amazing.  This is what’s been keeping you down here for so long?”

“No, this is,” Gladio’s voice called as he appears from around a hidden corner, rolling out a little flatbed cart with a giant... _ something _ , covered with a thin white sheet.  It’s tall, probably bigger than Gladio in height, and wide.  It looks almost like it has a tail.

Prompto stares as Gladio brings it to the middle of the room, locks the wheels of the cart, and steps away.  He looks it up and down then swiftly nods to Prompto.  “This is it,” he says with a wave of his hand.  If he weren’t so confused, Prompto might have thought the sculptor’s nervousness cute.

He steps to the covered statue slowly and touches the white sheet.  It’s soft and thin, almost new.  Gladio had put a lot of care into storing this piece.  Working up his gut, he yanks the sheet off like ripping off a bandaid.

He gasps and let the sheet pool at his feet as it drops from his hand.

It’s...him?

Prompto stares in shock at the replica of himself.  It is soft and elegant; the statue’s head ( _ his _ head?) is tilted up and to the side, as if it had caught a glimpse of something in the sky’s distance.  Its hair almost moves with a gentle breeze along with the clothes.  The clothes, not a tail as Prompto had first thought, reminds him of a toga with heavy folds and a billowy skirt trailing behind in the wind.

There is an almost innocent sensualness to the statue.  Its long neck curves gently into a delicate shoulder, and the sinch of the waist leads into the soft curve of the hip.  Along the legs, the skirt splits to reveal long legs gently walking on the balls of its feet.  The posture reminds Prompto of a deer or a nymph, and if the marble could walk, its footsteps would be almost silent.

Even the placement of its arms and fingers is careful to maintain the gentleness of the statue.  Up close, Prompto can see the visage of the piece, and it made him feel somehow warm.  Even the thin, slightly parted lips had a sort of plumpness that gave it life.

Prompto reaches up to delicately brush his fingers against the statue’s cheek.  “Is this me…?” He mutters.  He hears Gladio mumble a confirmation.

Prompto is...floored, for lack of a better word.  He looks at Gladio, back to the statue, then back to Gladio.  What’s he supposed to say?  It’s not every day someone showed him their statue of his exact likeness, dressed like he was in ancient Solheim.

“You don’t like it…” Gladio says defeatedly, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

“No no, I love it!  It’s...it’s amazing.”  Prompto interrupts quickly; of course he loves it, Gladio had obviously put his heart and soul into the piece.  It brings him an odd sort of comfort that Gladio sees him with such an ethereal gentleness that he could never imagine in himself.  But how can he tell Gladio that without sounding like a lovestruck teenager, like in those books Gladio reads?

It was no secret (to Noctis, anyway) that he likes Gladio.  Like, like-liked.  And of course Gladio would do something so unbelievably romantic and sweet in his own way.  Even if his “own way” is carving Prompto out of a slab of stone.

Gladio is visibly more relaxed now that he knows Prompto isn’t going to beat his ass.  Not that he could even if he wanted to, Prompto isn’t trying to pick a fight with a man made of iron and Cup Noodles.

Still…  The man’s insecurities came out when he was truly passionate about something, and it was nice to know that this project had mattered enough to him that Prompto’s opinion was the end-all.

“So you like it?  It’s not...creepy?”

Prompto lets out an ugly guffaw at that.  “Um!  I mean a little?  But like, a good creepy?”  Is there a good creepy?  Smooth, Prom.  “I mean it looks  _ just  _ like me.  That’s a little weird, staring your unmoving body in the face.”

Gladio looks like he doesn’t know how to take the critique and, quite frankly, neither does Prompto.  He shuffles over to Gladio and puts a hand on his arm.  “It’s amazing, big guy.  I love it, it’s...wow.”  He gives it another look before looking back at Gladio.

The fire warms his face and Prompto observes his features more carefully, the way Gladio must have observed his to make the statue.  His bushy eyebrows, his sharp features, soft round eyes, the dark scars that crossed his face.  At some point, his hand had migrated to cup Gladio’s jaw.

Gladio may be burly, loud, crass, prideful, and drink orange juice out of the jug… but Prompto loves it.  Him.  His gentleness, his protectiveness, and his romantics.  All of it.

Gladio hesitates at first, but after a moment, Prompto feels his hand on his back.  “I...really like you,” he mumbles.  The fire cracks in the silence between them.

Prompto searches the man’s face for the punchline of a joke; part of him expects that he’ll wake up in his room at any moment.   
But he doesn’t, and Gladio doesn’t laugh at him.

He rubs his thumb lightly over Gladio’s cheek.  “That’s lucky, ‘cause I really like you, too.”

He hears Gladio swallow.

“Uh...good...I’m…” he stutters.  It’s cute.  Prompto knows that none of the girls Gladio finds in Lestallum would get to see this side of him.

He kisses him.  It’s just a peck, quick and impulsive, and Prompto utters out an, “I-I’m so sorry, I—“ before Gladio leans in for another, eyes shut as though Prompto will disappear if he opens them.  The kiss is deeper, wetter, and Gladio moves his lips against Prompto’s until he gets the message to let him in.

His eyes squeeze shut and his knees go weak when he does.  Gladio may be a stuttering mess with talking, but he certainly knew what he was doing with his tongue inside Prompto’s throat.

He holds Prompto tightly, caging him in against his hard body as he backs them into his ratted couch.  Their mouths come apart and together again, over and over, as they share breath and caress each other wherever they can reach.

Prompto lets him lay him back on the couch, and he opens his knees to let the bigger man settle between them.  His thighs cradle Gladio’s waist while his hands do the same to his face.  His long fingers brush through Gladio’s hair, rubbing noncommittal circles with his nails.  He watches Gladio through hazy, half shut eyes.

Gladio pulls away, finally remembering that he has to breathe, and stares down at him.  The orange glow of the fire, and the gentle sounds of the crickets, keeps them grounded to reality.

Finally, Gladio brushes his thumb over Prompto’s freckles.  “How are you even real?” he says so quietly that Prompto isn’t sure he was meant to hear.

They kiss again, less hungry this time.  They hold it as if to savor the taste of each other, and their breaths are quiet against each other’s cheeks.  Prompto feels Gladio shift, petting his giant hands against his denim covered thighs.  He sighs and opens his legs more to let Gladio do as he pleases.  His head lolls back, eyes threatening to close again; he rolls his head to the side and…

Oh _hell_ no.  Nope.  No.

“Gladio,” he says, and Gladio hums as he kisses at Prompto’s neck and rubs heavily at the juncture of his hips and thighs.  “Gladio, stop,” he demands.   Gladio pulls away quicker than Prompto has ever seen him move; his compliance is reassuring, at least.

Prompto points at the statue that’s positioned to stare in their direction.  “Cover up the other me, wouldya?”

Gladio shakes with laughter as he presses his forehead to Prompto’s neck.  Prompto laughs with him, and it feels nice.  He wishes this could last forever.

Gladio presses a wet kiss to his mouth and gets up to throw the sheet over the statue and roll it back into the storage room.

Prompto leans his head back and stares at the ceiling of the studio.  His face burns, and his stomach is in knots.  He chuckles quietly to himself.

Hidden under the lighthouse isn’t such a bad place to be.

**Author's Note:**

> cute discord au that my friend bish and i came up with ╰(▔∀▔)╯ arent they adorable
> 
> i want prompto in like a ffxiii-esque crystal form (how pretty would that be *^*)
> 
> find me on tumblr as hamuretu or sugarbath!


End file.
